West Point: Good to See You

Through the years, my way of greeting friends has changed, and it is about to change again.

When I was in high school, I was part of a group of 30 or so kids who enjoyed each other. We went to football games on Friday night and made a great cheering section. Any Friday night we diddn’t have a game we would meet at somebody’s house where we would chew the rag, skate, play games or whatever. Our usual greeting was, “Hi!”.

As a young adult, I joined everyone else in greeting everyone with “Howyerdoing?” After some years, I realized that no one was telling me how they were doing. About the same time, I realized that in most cases I didn’t want to know how they were doing either.

Some years ago, I had occasion to go to the hospital for an outpatient test of some kind. Presumably, I was having the test because I wasn’t doing so well. I knew the people there probably wouldn’t give a hoot how I was doing, even though it was their business to find out how I was doing.

I decided that was a good place to put “Howyerdoin?” to the test. I went to the desk at the hospital and logged in. The lady at the desk said, “Howyerdoing?” I said, “I’m sick as a dog.” “That is nice,” she replied.

For some unknown reason, they put me in a wheelchair to take me to the area where I would be tested. The orderly pushing my wheelchair said, “Howyerdoing?” “I’m dying,” I replied. The orderly didn’t even hear my reply and couldn’t have cared less.

When we reached the test area, the man who was to do the test said, “Howyerdoin?” “I have no idea,” I said, “How do you think I’m doing?” He never heard a word I said.

After my experiment proved what I had suspected for years, I changed my greeting to “Good to see you.” This has served me well for several years—or rather I thought it had. About two years ago, my doctor told me I had macular degeneration to go with the glaucoma that I have had for many years. For those who may not know, glaucoma destroys your perimeter vision and macular degeneration destroys your central vision. About two years ago, my vision got so bad that I had to give up my driver’s license. I have great difficulty reading or watching television or a movie. I can see automobiles, but not the highway or street signs or the color of the traffic lights. I can see you but not your facial features.

I finally gave up most reading in favor of a machine that reads books to me. I write out articles for the Star, but I cannot read what I have written. I still teach Sunday school, but I have to struggle through the lesson on Monday and rehearse it all week long to deliver it by memory on Sunday.

Page 2 of 2 - Our three daughters and their families were with us for Thanksgiving. They noticed that when were were out and around, some people spoke or waved to me, and I didn’t see them. So they suggested I write this article to explain what may seem to be my lack of friendliness.

Now I’m trying to break the habit of saying, “Good to see you!” because I cannot see you. In the meantime, please forgive me for not speaking.

And don’t be surprised if you say, “Howyerdoin?” and my answer is “I can’t see and I can’t hear but otherwise I’m doing fine.”

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I can’t hear very well either, even though I have two hearing aids.

But, as I pointed out in my column for Thanksgiving, I have been blessed beyond measure in every other direction. How about you?